


Unspoken Rules

by fallenxstarr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deathly Hallows, M/M, One Shot, One-Shot, book seven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:51:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15006176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenxstarr/pseuds/fallenxstarr
Summary: Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom have been meeting up in secret their seventh year, even though they know how little sense it makes and what a terrible idea it is. Their unspoken rules can only help so much, especially when one of them begins to break them. One-shot





	Unspoken Rules

He pressed his hand against the rough pillow, as if forcing himself even further into darkness would make time forget about him and stretch its legs unwatched. He tried to breathe not think about anything- not the world outside of this room, not what the world within this room could be, if he was lucky. If he was patient.  
It was impossible to ignore the aching in his own hollow chest, clawing its way to the back of his skull, impossible to ignore the wanting taking control of his brain. He wanted to hear his footsteps against the carpet, wanted to watch the agitated twitch of his restless fingers, wanted above all to see his face for more than fleeting seconds in the corridors. His eyes, his mouth, forming the same words as always: “This can’t happen”.  
It was what began every “session” they had, sometimes bookended by kisses, hungry touching, sometimes stated like a legal disclosure as he stood feet away, disconnected and disentangled the way Draco himself was not. He swore that he could see it in him, the sheer need, and it was only in these moments, when the desire was overpowering, that he didn’t care.  
He thought of how he’d gotten away with staring him in the eyes last time, an unspoken rule broken. They had so many unspoken agreements, so many that he had carefully avoided, toeing the line, focussed on not letting their time together end. Even though it had to. He knew it did, of course, and he knew Neville did too. God, did he know that Neville knew.  
_“This can’t happen.”_  
Sometimes when he looked at him from afar, like them meeting was something controllable not frantic and desperate and... whatever it was for Draco, something very, very not controllable at all, sometimes it made him want to punch him. Or throw something at him. It made him want to yell and question him and get in his face just for the reaction, and maybe, maybe for some kind of answer so he could stop driving himself mad trying to figure out how he was in this position he’d never in his life expected. But the easiest solution never came into his mind. He never once thought to leave, and never once, looking back, did he want to.  
Sometimes when Neville finally took a few steps forward, breaking down the distance between them into chalk dust, he would coil himself and wait until his calloused fingers brushed against him and he would become a plank of wood, a supporting beam, almost daring to be broken. But he was always too gentle for that- not gentle the way he’d seen him with the younger students, not caring, not really. And not soft, the way he’d always seen him in the past. Neville was _gentle_ like he couldn’t find a reason not to be, gentle like a ship passed a storm and praying to the waves, gentle like a man who had decided just what had power over him and what did not. Draco did not.  
As the seconds brushed past him he couldn’t help but let the doubt slip away from the place he had tried to lock it, coloring his thoughts. He’d seen him in the dining hall, he’d nodded, hadn’t he? It hadn’t been big, but it never was. But he’d seen him. Maybe he hadn’t and it was a trick of the eyes. Maybe he hadn’t seen him at all. Or maybe he’d seen Draco looking but had misunderstood, and he wasn’t coming because Draco’s communication wasn’t clear enough.  
Or maybe he’d understood and decided not to come. Maybe last time really was the last time. It would make sense, wouldn’t it?  
Draco pushed himself forward on the couch for something to do, as if moving his body could move his brain away from its topic of choice. He felt a pang of annoyance at himself, not unusual these days. He felt like child in desperate need for attention.  
He crossed him arms against his chest, panic slowly replacing itself with frustration. This was foolish. He was a Malfoy, and a pureblood, and a million times more important than Neville Longbottom. It didn’t matter that he was handsome or a good kisser, it was just convenience when it came around to it. He needed a constant, he needed to be noticed- as juvenile and pathetic as it was, he could accept that. It was Neville who was willing to be there, to treat him as something special, in his own, standoffish way. So that was what he was there for.  
If he ever showed up.

He didn’t hear the door close, didn’t even hear his muffled footsteps he’d been waiting on, but he felt his presence like heat from a bonfire.  
Draco looked up at him, still frustrated, bordering on angry, at himself and at Neville and at the Dark Lord and at the world. Neville was several feet away, standing in shadow. He considered throwing something at him again.  
He compromised for standing up. They stood there for a few seconds, tense and statuesque, before Draco walked forward- another rule broken. Neville closed the gap to a foot, almost defiant.  
Draco sucked in his breath in a small startled hiss. “What happened to your face?”  
Neville looked away from him, eyes downtrodden. He was bloody, not bleeding but fresh from it, raw and painful.  
“This-”  
_“What happened?”_ Draco demanded, cutting him off. He kept a mental tally of each rule he was disregarding. In the back of his mind he wondered if Neville noticed too.  
Neville sighed, heavy and tired. “Detention.”  
“Detention?” Draco’s tone was incredulous.  
“Same as always.”  
“But this...” Draco took in the sight of him. He had cuts and gashes down his arms that promised to scar, and one of his eyes was surrounded by yellowed and purple sink, painted with dried blood. He looked like he’d been in an illegal duel. He looked like he’d already faced the war.  
Neville was still looking resolutely away from him. “It’s not that bad.”  
“What was it for?” He asked because he couldn’t stop himself.  
“They... They wanted us to practice crucio on a first year.”  
Draco stared at him, feeling his stomach drop. He knew what that meant, to both the boy and the “professors”.  
“They were mad they couldn’t break you.” There was a strange pride in his voice, and he hoped Neville didn’t hear it.  
The other boy looked up at him, a strange expression on his face, and Draco looked away.  
“I suppose.” He said it like it was something not worth lingering on. Draco felt angry all over again.  
“So you’re just going to keep letting them beat you to a pulp?”  
Neville looked surprised, and it gave Draco a small shock of satisfaction to see raw expression on his face. “What do you expect me to do?”  
Draco didn’t have an answer for this, but he could feel his heart hammering and Neville’s gaze on him, and he opened his mouth anyway. “Is it worth it?”  
Neville took a step back. He didn’t looked surprised now. He looked disappointed. Draco wished that he had looked surprised.  
“Yes.” It wasn’t an argument.  
“I’m sorry.” Draco’s felt heat on his face as the words escaped him. He took a breath. “I know it is. I just mean...”  
“They wanted me to use crucio, Draco.” He said it slow, like he was explaining something to a child.  
“I know. I know.” He took another deep breath. Quieter now he repeated, “I know.”  
Neville reached out to him, one hand on the side of Draco’s face, one trailing alongside his arm. Draco fought the urge to go stiff, to try to make himself disappear.  
Instead, he yielded, face falling gently into Neville’s hand, arm moving towards him. And Neville pulled him closer with tender movements, like he was something precious and fragile. Like he was something that deserved to be treated gently.  
“I’m sorry,” He said, voice soft.  
Draco wanted to ask him what he could possibly be sorry for, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move himself away from the warm and safe embrace of the other.  
“I can’t let them win. Even if it’s crazy. Even if it’s doomed. I can’t.” There was fire burning in his voice, edging his words with something dangerous.  
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “that it makes you worry.”  
Draco flushed. “I’m-”  
He broke off as Neville pulled him in, lips stopping him mid half thought out retort. Draco caught his lip in his teeth and was rewarded by Neville moving closer still, until he was pushing his back into the sofa he’d been sitting on, pining on, only minutes before.  
His hands were travelling up to his shaggy hair, with minds of their own, while Neville’s pushed into his back. He was leaning into him, placing his body between Draco’s ever widening legs, leaning so far into him that there was no space, there was no detachment, there was no ignoring. Draco pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. He looked wild, and vulnerable. None of this felt controllable.  
Neville closed the distance again, and Draco pulled at him like he could move him ever closer. Neville’s hands were inching down until they moved like lightning to the edge of his shirt, to the waistband of his pants, to his skin. Draco tasted blood on his lips. It was moments, or hours, until he realized, numbly, it wasn’t his own.  
He pulled back, panting slightly, feeling Neville’s hands on him burning at him, holding him, lying to him- because this could have felt normal, and it never could be. He was wasting time so he wouldn’t have to move forward, and Neville was bleeding in front of him, a hero nobody was asking for.  
His hands slid down from Neville’s back, and he felt the ones one him slack, through they didn’t moved. Neville was staring at him, like he had the last word. Like he had ever had any control in any of this.  
He looked like he’d give him the moon if that’s what he wanted, like he’d stay in the room of requirement until they both died, if that was what he chose. He looked like he’d walk away if he asked, and forget any of this happened. He looked like a man who had learned to pick his battles. And Draco, for now, was his.  
Draco pressed his mouth into a firm line, mind already moving to the weeks and months and year, maybe, to come. His eyes lingered over him, and Neville met his gaze. They’d both made up their minds a long time ago. He let out a long breath.  
“This can’t happen.”


End file.
